


the past, the present, and the future that’s cut short

by VITRI0L



Series: pain [4]
Category: DreamSMP, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Pain, Sad Ending, multiply pov, no beta we die like (l’)manberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VITRI0L/pseuds/VITRI0L
Summary: Manberg explodes.(told from multiply povs)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: pain [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968457
Comments: 7
Kudos: 152





	the past, the present, and the future that’s cut short

**Author's Note:**

> here we go, the last fucking work in this series, babyy! 
> 
> enjoy!

Schlatt was extremely proud of the work Tubbo had put into the festival decorations. The podium had looked better than before, decorated with little banners with the Manberg flag all around. He wouldn’t admit it, but the annoying little brunet had really started to grow on him.

He was glad to spend the time on his citizens, not oblivious enough to know when they needed something nice. He hadn’t been the kindest leader, this was clear, but he still had a nation and a people to lead.

The business man hadn’t seen the explosion coming. Tubbo stood on the stage shaking slightly, and the next second there is a loud boom and the deafening sound of wood cracking.

Wilbur was standing were Tubbo had once been, eyes wild and shining as he laughed loudly.

A piece of sharp wood caught Schlatt in the chest, piercing straight through him.

The rubble buried him quickly.

•••

Quackity had been beginning to have doubts about his role in the Manberg government. His doubt consumed his waking moments and he had promised himself that he’d discuss it with Schlatt after the festival.

He just wanted to have a good time for once.

The teen wouldn’t survive the night. 

•••

Fundy didn’t know of his adopted father’s plan because if he had, the Dutchman would have tried to stop him.

Guilt crushed him worse than the beam laying across his shoulder blades. As breathing became harder and his lungs begged for air, he wished that he’d never pretended to be on Schlatt’s side.

 _Your betrayal... it hurt Wilbur,_ his mind shouted, _You drove him insane when you pushed him away!_

The tears ran down Fundy’s face and mixed with the blood. There was so much Fundy thought it could drown him.

That was the last thing he remembered.

•••

Niki gasped loudly and cried out in pain as she pushed the planks off of her legs. Large, sharp pieces of wood had pierced her back and nicked her face due to the force of the explosion.

Blood stuck to her uncomfortably, matting her hairs together as she wobbled to her feet. The ground seemed to sway, and the dark haired woman struggled to stand up.

Niki refused to look at the rubble, afraid just the sight might strike her dead before the blood loss did. Instead, she walked the perimeter, hoping for someone else to still be alive.

Wilbur had stopped writing her ages ago. It concerned her, as he’d promised to come get her out of Manberg. But as the months dragged on, the worry turned to anger and Niki knew she didn’t need to rely on the ex President to help her. She’d help herself.

 _So, this was the reason, huh,_ Niki thought plainly, tears blurring her vision, _He lost his way, and lost his mind to the feelings of war. And we all have to pay for it._

_Maybe I should have noticed._

Niki hadn’t been there when L’Manberg fought for its independence and she was glad for that. The poison of the world had been kept from her a little longer, for she had no memory of the pain of the nation before Wilbur’s presidency. But the pain of the war rippled, and stayed with them, never far behind and never gone for good.

While lost in her thoughts, Niki felt her foot bump something. The world returned to her and she looked down, immediately sick to her stomach.

The hand was outstretched and limp, dirty and bloody. The ginger hair was like hers, matted in grime and blood, and those fox like ears that always twitched lively were deadly still.

Fundy laying in a gross amount of pooled blood was the last thing Niki could see before the world went black.

•••

Eret thought that traitors got slow deaths. He thought it was what they deserved.

He didn’t die slow. The ground tumbled and the podium exploded violently. He knew what was coming right then.

Debris crushed him and pushed him into the ground. Wood planks snapped his ribs and the Brit could feel the air forced out of his lungs, body on fire and the pain insurmountable. 

He was dying quickly, even though he didn’t think he deserved it.

And they say that you should never have any regrets in life.

All Eret could think about was all his regrets as death took him swiftly.

•••

It was so dark that George almost didn’t know where he was.

But the smell of burnt wood and flesh and the feeling of blood soaking into every fabric of clothing kept him very much present.

“George?” called a wary and frightened voice.

“Sapnap,” George responded softly.

He wished he could have moved his head to look for his friend. He didn’t want to risk it, however. The debris made a little cavern for him now, but one false move and it would all come down. 

“Where- where are you? You sound close,” Sapnap asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

The sound was coming to George’s right. Crisscrossing planks, broken wood and dirt blocked his sight, but he assumed his friend was on the other side.

“I’m to your left,” George managed, trying to keep his tone relatively calm.

George’s eyes adjusted to the darkness a little more and he could see just that much more. There was shifting noises to his right, causing the brunet to look down.

A hand poked through the wall, and hope soared through George. Tentatively, he reached out and placed his hand in the palm of the other.

The hand was warm and Sapnap gasped loudly. The hand flinched and George squeezed it lightly.

“Sapnap?” he asked.

“That’s you, right?” Sapnap replied and George tried to ignore the way the wobble in his words made his heart ache.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s me,” he breathed, excitement and joy short lived.

Sapnap squeezed his hand so hard his nails made jagged cuts that in George’s skin. The brunet couldn’t care less, only feeling the warmth of another was all that occupied his mind.

 _He’s alive,_ George thought frantically, _I’m alive and he’s alive._

“Do you...” Sapnap started, but he trailed off and George heard him sigh shakily.

“It’s ok, what were you saying?” the brunet asked gently.

The raven haired teen stayed silent and those few seconds felt like a lifetime to George. His mind tried to push forward the worst scenarios, to make him process the events of the festival. He didn’t want to, solely focused on the small pulse he could feel in his friends hand.

“...what about Dream?” was the question George least wanted to hear.

His stomach twisted painfully and his heart surely should have been collapsed by the amount of guilt the coursed through him at the name. 

“I- I don’t... know...” he stumbled nervously.

Sapnap gripped his hand tighter, and George felt tears roll down his face, unbidden. 

“Yeah, me neither. It’s ok, though. Dream’s a smart bastard, I’m sure he’s fine,” Sapnap replied lightly and George was faintly aware that the younger was trying to make a joke.

The brunet wished he had the energy to smile, but his guilt and sadness stifled all else and emotional drained him.

“Yeah... I just- wish things were different.”

“George, it’s ok. I’m sure... he’s not mad at you,” Sapnap said softly.

The older hated the way those words made more tears stream down his face and he felt a sob bubble in his throat.

“I would be... I’d be mad if I were Dream. And so disappointed. And... I’d feel betrayed, too. Surely... that’s how he feels,” George managed weakly.

There was a harsh laugh from Sapnap that startled George.

“Even if he felt that way... you know he can’t stay mad at you for long. Hell, I’m not even mad at you,” he told his friend.

“You’re not... but I sided with Swag.”

“Nope,” Sapnap said, popping the p loudly, “I’m not mad. I kinda couldn’t care less, y’know?”

“Well, we’re gonna... not make it out of here, so of course you’re not mad,” George mumbled, consciously avoiding the word _die._

The thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn violently. He was sure he would have thrown up if Sapnap hadn’t dug his sharp nails back into his hand, pulling the brunet out of his thoughts.

“Shut the fuck up, Gogy,” the younger replied loudly, a smile in his voice, “You’re getting off topic, bitch.”

Oddly enough, it was comforting to hear Sapnap call him “gogy” and “a bitch”. It sounded so normal, and normal was what they needed.

“What _ever_ ,” George sighed with mock annoyance.

He was sure the younger would hit him if he could. Their antics were almost enough to get George to forget everything.

If it weren’t for the guilt that still nagged the back of his mind.

“I just... I hope Dream’s ok and... I wish I could speak to him. Say sorry for everything...” 

George stopped his train of thought quickly or else his emotions would definitely suffocate him. The brunet took a deep breath but it did little to quell the storm that took over.

“I wish it had turned out different...” George whispered, breath catching painfully in his dry throat.

Yeah... so do I,” Sapnap murmured.

Sapnap let the older man sob loudly, the pain muffled by the debris but still strong enough to pierce his heart. 

George cried for what felt like forever and the sadness seemed never ending. He cried until his voice broke, until he ran out of tears and no longer had the energy feel much anymore.

The hand stayed locked in his, grasping onto his skin like it was a lifeline. George held on equally as tight, afraid he might be lost to death if he were to let go.

So he didn’t.

•••

Wilbur had warned Dream to stay away from Manberg on the 16th. It should have been a massive red flag, but the American hadn’t thought much of it when they’d had their meeting.

Though, he absolutely should have.

Because now Dream was walking down a dirt road, alone and with vivid memories burning through him, stealing his rationality and replacing it with pain.

Dream wished he could run, but his legs wouldn’t obey his mind. He walked too slowly, breathed too quickly and thought too much. It was all too much.

Dream had been standing just outside of Manberg when the TNT went off. He watched from the shadows, as he was oft to do and observed the going ons of the nation.

_“Don’t be in Manberg on the 16th,” Wilbur said, a distant look in his eye, “Especially not when Tubbo’s on stage.”_

Some part of Dream didn’t believe that the former President would actually do it, that he had the guts. It wasn’t the Wilbur Dream knew, and it’s why he agreed to give the brunet the bomb in the first place.

 _You fucked up, hard,_ his mind taunted, _And to think you tried to be on the right side of history this time._

_Pathetic._

Tubbo had walked up on the stage, and began to give his speech. Dream felt an odd fondness for the two revolutionary teens, though he’d never admit it out loud and he had found himself smiling gently behind his mask.

_“Don’t be in Manberg on the 16th,” Wilbur told him, as they stood in the rain, “Especially not when Tubbo’s on stage.”_

The ground had begun to rumble and Tubbo was no longer on the stage. Wilbur stood were the teen once was, laughing maniacally and like he was half out of his mind. The Manbergians on the stage couldn’t move, and the audience couldn’t move before the whole thing exploded.

There were screams and yelling mixed with the horrible sound of wooden snapping in half, hitting the ground and hitting people. 

Dream turned and ran then.

“George and Sapnap... they were on that stage,” he said desperately, throwing his broken smiley mask to the side of the dirt road.

This seemed to be all his fault. He had given his explosives to Wil and now everyone was dead because of it.

 _You killed your best friends,_ his mind told him.

Dream screamed out, unable to keep the thoughts and the memories from his mind. Tears fell from his eyes as all the rage, guilt and sadness poured through him. His legs wouldn’t move forward and he placed his hands on either side of his head, pulling on his hair violently.

He stood still, breaking down on the side of the dirt road that lead out of Manberg for what seemed like ages. But, the tears dried up and his screams died out and there Dream stood, broken and hallowed by his pain.

He made himself keep moving, despite the part of him that told him to go back. 

_There’s nothing back there,_ he thought dully, _Everyone’s dead now and I find no one but the corpses of the people I love._

And Dream couldn’t take that.

The night was cold when the man in a green sweater came upon something in the middle of the dirt road. It was dark and he warily moved closer.

He wished he hadn’t.

Tommy laid on his back, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. His skin was unnaturally pale in the moonlight and he was deathly still. Tubbo was half on top of the other, face buried in the blond teens uniform and also unnaturally pale and still.

Their arms held each other in a tight embrace, like the other person was the only important thing. Dream didn’t need to kneel down to look for a pulse, he knew, of course.

_They’re dead, too._

The teens laid in dried blood, uncaring of the rest of the world that they no longer inhabited. It looked peaceful, and Dream felt a sudden need to have that kind of peace as well.

He wanted to be with everyone once again. 

Dream felt more tears burn his eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. He looked down at the two teens he thought of as brothers and regretted putting them through so many wars. The American wanted nothing more than to die too, right in the middle of the moonlit dirt road.

 _The universe, in all its cruel irony, has kept me alive,_ Dream thought bitterly.

 _But you can’t die now,_ a voice told him, _What would George and Sapnap think? And what would everyone else think?_

His heart clenched. 

Dream took his backpack off, and reached in it. His hand brushed against the delicate vinyl and he pulled it out.

“It’s my copy of Mellohi,” Dream told the bodies below him, “You had the correct one all along, and I’m sorry that I never told you that. I’m sorry for taking you discs, Tommy. I know how much they mean to you. And Tubbo, I know how much you like music as well.”

He closed and put his backpack back on. Dream kneeled down gently, careful not to touch the boys. He placed the disc next to Tommy’s head and let himself linger for a second.

“I’m sorry... that I fought a war against you both. You’re both just kids, you don’t deserve... any of this... No one, in my kingdom or Manberg or L’Manberg deserved any of this.”

 _We don’t deserve it but we still got it._

He got back to his feet with a shattered heart and a heavy soul.

 _Go back to Manberg,_ a voice told him again, _Go and say goodbye._

This time, Dream didn’t refuse.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone for all the support on these works, you guys are fucking insane and i appreciate it <3
> 
> as always, have a good day :)


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